Priceless
“It’s not a game, Maple.” His eyes go soft, roaming over my body as if he’s getting his last look of me, but his smile is wicked. How he can pull off both looks at the same time is beyond me.
He steps toward me. I can hear Trudy shouting through the other door about finding the keys.
“I want more than a piece, sweetness,” he says as the door swings open. Trudy stands there with two cops.
“Mr. Bennington?”, one of the officers asks. He ignores them.
He leans down. “This isn’t over,” he whispers next to my ear. His breath makes one of my stray hairs tickle my skin. My mind blanks for a moment at the contact.
“Coffee, boys?” He turns suddenly, clapping his hands and breaking me from the haze I’d fallen under for a moment.
“He is trespassing,” Trudy reminds the officer.
“The place across the street is good. I could use something to eat.” He winks at me as he says it.
“Sounds good to me,” one of the officers says. Trudy gawks at them in shock. Yeah. Clearly Mr. Bennington has pull.
“You want anything, sweetness?” Major asks me. I narrow my eyes on him. Why does he keep calling me that? I’ve been anything but sweet to him.
“You out of my store,” I snip. He only smiles but actually does what I ask this time. I know this won’t be the last I see of him. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. Maybe I am up for a little challenge too.
Chapter 5
Major
“Sorry, Mr. Bennington, but we had to come. The chief’s wife is a huge fan.” The beat cop named Williams stares at his coffee.
“Don’t worry about it, Williams.” I push the leftover coffee cake in front of him. “Tell me more about this jewelry designer. Maple, is it?”
“Yeah, she’s some kooky granola person. Perfect for these Park Slopers.” Williams digs into the cake, crumbs parking in the corners of his mouth. Discreetly I move a napkin across the table and hope he gets the hint. He doesn’t, instead opting to take a huge gulp of coffee. “Her stuff is made of old stuff from dead people.”
“Old stuff from dead people? Oh, estate auctions?” I look down at my hemp clothing colored with natural plant dye and start putting the pieces together. “She buys old jewelry and precious materials and remakes them into modern pieces,” I muse.
Williams nods. “Right. We actually get a lot of complaints about her place. The lines are long. She’s not open enough hours and she turns away people all the time. They get mad and call us, but we can’t do anything about it because of the chief’s wife.”
“Do you know why she turns people away?”
The cop shrugs. “Something about wanting her pieces to go to the right home or some shit like that.”
“What about Maple herself?”
“Ah, she has a brother who’s a lawyer at some firm downtown. Or maybe he owns his own firm? I can’t recall. Bats for the other team, if you know what I mean.” Williams wriggles his eyebrows.
“I got it,” I reply.
Williams nods, looking somewhat relieved that he doesn’t have to spell it out.
“Anything else? Does she live with her brother? Or her family?”
“Ah no, she lives alone I think. Her brother bought her a townhome just a couple blocks down. Nice place.”
My fingers curl into a fist. Williams has been inside her place? The cop spots my fist and chokes on his coffee. Quickly, he sets it down, wipes off his mouth with the napkin and sputters, “Chief had us check all her door and window locks and test the security her brother had installed. That’s all.”
That better be all. I force my hand to relax. “Anything else?”
“She doesn’t have debt?” he says, in a questioning tone. He’s about one non-verbal threat from making up shit.
Having seen that Williams has reached the end of his usefulness, I throw a few bills on the table for a tip along with a check for the station’s Widows and Orphans’ Fund. “Thanks. Tell your chief that you gave me a stern talking to and that you were able to wrangle this donation from me as penance.”
Williams’ eyes grow wide as he spots the numbers of zeros. “Uh, yessir, Mr. Bennington. Anytime, Mr. Bennington. I’m sorry I wasn’t more help, Mr. Bennington.”
I shove an impatient hand through my hair. Having your father be the commissioner of police is great for getting out of shit in this city but it’s really more of a hassle. Besides, my dad’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve this kind of obsequiousness.
On my way out of the coffee shop, my phone beeps. I know it’s my sister without even looking at my device. Since I don’t have good news for her, I ignore the text and opt to call a friend of mine who works at one of the auction houses on Park Avenue.